


Rewriting the Stars

by leahellens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, May be continued..., Oneshot, Post Season 3, The plane touch downed and they find they're in love, just fluff, literally just a snapshot, long-winded oneshot (is that a thing?), tarmac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:58:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leahellens/pseuds/leahellens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John could see the solar system in Sherlock's eyes (was that what that was? Dancing about in the wide eyes... he wasn't sure, he was just trying to get his feet and mind back in sync after pulling Sherlock's lips to his own...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewriting the Stars

John could see the solar system in Sherlock's eyes (was that what that was? Dancing about in the wide eyes... he wasn't sure, he was just trying to get his feet and mind back in sync after pulling Sherlock's lips to his own...), despite the fact he knew Sherlock had long deleted it from memory. But there it was (he was sure, no it wasn't just a trick of his addled brain...), flickering just beyond his blown pupils, star shine and solar dust twirled into the verdigris. It was captivating (oh god, yes... I can't believe I just did that!) and John couldn't look away, couldn't think of much beyond the anomaly in front of him, suddenly a supernova. A supernova that was pulling him closer (is this alright Sherlock? I kissed you once already... is it alright to try again?) two steps, one... close enough to feel the warmth of another body caressing his own (your eyes tell me yes...). John's hand, of it own accord lifted to rest on the vertigo inspiring cheekbones not just because of it sharp descent among Sherlock's features, but also was there any other feeling than that of slight dizziness when looking a face so beautiful?

Suddenly the edges of space were making sound (or were they… was that possible? Maybe he had deleted much of the solar system as well…). John released Sherlock’s eyes to scan the rest if his face, noting that Sherlock’s lips, reacting to John’s touch had parted (oh, interesting) in what must have been a gasp, for no matter how beautiful, the stars could not of made such an (…what was the word…) arousing (yes that was it) sound. 

Yes, that certainly was the word to use; John could feel it, on the edges of space on the fringes of arousal coursing through him like waves only an exploding star could give off. He shuttered and controlled the urge to press closer than he already was to the figure in front of him. John knew Sherlock was looking at a mirror of himself; eyes blown, lips parted, and very aware of how precariously frightening –stunning- this moment was. It had been a long time coming (God, Sherlock, I would of moved sooner if…) and both men in the room knew this (finally John you can see what’s in front of you…), could suddenly feel the throat tightening, stomach dropping tumble through space that was falling together with no way back… 

If John was honest with himself, as he was suddenly realizing, this had been lingering in his mind since the fall. Not the one they were experiencing together, not alone, in the middle of a (godforsaken) tarmac (no less!), no, but he one two years back that had John thinking he would never feel anything akin to this ever in his lifetime. And then when that plane, taking the hope to fall maddening in love together with his flat mate, best friend (what could I call you after tonight Sherlock?) away, had turned back around and landed John knew it was inevitable. One could only deny the never-ending edges of space so many times before their validity just washed over you… John could only hold back so long before he was pushed, and seeing Sherlock walking towards him, after almost losing him twice, was that push and nothing had felt so exhilarating. 

Mary knew. Mary had always known, but she was gracious enough to never say. She also knew she would never of earned her spot into John’s good graces, no matter how many times he said she had; not after she could have been the cause of taking Sherlock away from him the second time, before the plane. No she hadn’t believed John that Christmas day, she had hoped, perhaps, his words were honest, but as soon as she saw John’s eyes as Sherlock emerged from the plane, she knew her fight was lost; hope swept up in a west wind, and she silently removed her hand from John’s and slid into the backseat of the car alone. She had told him, she couldn’t watch him fall out of love with her, and even now this was true. It only took a nod from Mycroft, who watched the scene play out and knew (of course Mycroft bloody knew, because he could see the image if his baby brother in the army doctor, or rather, the perfect opposite…) to alert the driver to depart from the tarmac, this time, with one less passenger. 

As it should be. 

Even Mycroft held tight, despite his protests otherwise, if one cared (caring is not an advantage Sherlock…) for you the way John loved Sherlock, that was a thing to never let go (… except perhaps this one Sherlock, yes, this one it might be one). This… relationship, had survived two falls, it could survive a thousand more, even if one of them does not return in the end. Between it all, they would have an great many ears together and that is what the two before him could not handle: going on without the other, never having fallen in the first place. 

Mycroft took his cue (because surely there was nothing got be done of these two… even London could wait, and Moriarty…) after a second car arrived for his brother and (hmm, what will you call him after tonight, Sherlock?) his John, pulled up next to the forgotten plane. Mycroft got into his own that had idled long enough, without a glance back, and departed to deal with the world. 

And that just left two, two and that wouldn’t of mattered at this point as John slid his hand to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and pulled his lips to his own (yes, your letting me) and (John, it took you long enough, just don’t stop kissing me). It was a chaste kiss, simple but heated in the many things it didn’t have to say (yes, there will be more of this, John, I want to taste all of you) and soon it broke. John smiled, hesitantly up to Sherlock (this is really happening) and the edges of Sherlock’s lips lifted in sincerity, forming a duplicate to what John recognized as the ‘for John’ smile. Wide, brilliant, and mimicked in his eyes, those eyes like the stars in space, though now John realized it was a new kind of star, one special to Sherlock and it was suddenly rewriting everything he knew of the solar system…

“Of course, John … of course….”. A deep familiar voice, responding to the thoughts in John’s head. 

(You only had to say when).

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> First Fanfic (honestly just really excited about being a registered user on here, like to the point I keep showing all my friends because I FINALLY DID IT...). 
> 
> Anyways, pointers, comments, critiques, saying "hello" is all welcome!
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!


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